Oblivion
by latefebruary
Summary: "Give her the bloody memories, all of them, and be so kind and start off with the one where I called her a filthy mudblood, will you?" She was rather tired of seeing pity and worry in their eyes. In order to find back to herself, Hermione comes face to face with things not even anybody else could have seen coming. Except him.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any of the included characters created by JK Rowling.

* * *

The first thing she woke up to was a snore, coming from her right besdside. Opening her eyes, she faced a sterile environment, kept in pure white and light green colours. Only the bed she was laying on, a table covered with a vase of melissas and a variety of sweets she couldn't identify, and an occupied chair were furnishing the room. The snoring came to an abrupt halt when she made a move to sit up, making the bed creak. What followed afterwards could have been described as an ultimate chaos.

_'Mione. Hermione. Hermione Granger. Miss Granger. Granger._

The words tasted strange on her own tongue. Trying to familiarise herself with them, she kept repeating them, like a prayer. The only effect was that she felt more and more detachment each time the words escaped her mouth.

_'Mione. Hermione. Hermione Granger. Miss Granger. Granger._

And that bothered her even more than people hovering over her, crying and giving her pitiful glances, touching her. People she couldn't remember to save her life. Complete strangers, who were shedding tears, making her feel guilty for an inexplicable reason. And she always shoved away their hands from her body, except those of two familiar faces. Odd that she couldn't even remember her own name, they all noted. But she didn't agree, the dissent becoming stronger each time she locked eyes with her familiars. They were worth remembering. She could see it in their eyes.

The following days she spent in the presence of the guy with the glasses and the readhead only. Daily visits by doctors were routine. Laying in between her sheets, she listened to several anecdotes of their times together. She never fully understood them, but she knew from their laughter and the glimmer in their eyes that surely their times had been fun. That they had been happy. She always joined in, until the day she asked them to explain words she couldn't quite understand. Each question had darkened the mood, and she wished she had just kept quiet. That she had just laughed along, pretended.

Photographs, which were moving for a reason she couldn't make out. They had brought a huge stack on their next visit, and were now introducing each person that she supposedly had known before. Most of them had been there on the day she had woken up. It was weird, seeing them hug her, and herself hugging back. Smiling at them. She couldn't contain her tears of confusion.

The other day, she asked her familiars when her parents would come. She didn't remember their names, but had a few memories of them. They had appeared in her dreams, and she clung hard to these little pieces of her previous life. Her familiars exchanged glances. Then, the guy with the glasses explained. They would probably never come. And she cried even more.

The diagnosis was clear. They called it "Memory Charm", and she didn't understand. The doctor smiled at her and explained, like he would to a child, hurting her pride. Her memories had been withdrawn from her brain, leaving only little fractions behind, he said. Things that her brain had deemed important, things that were deeply rooted. He told her that with some effort, she could be able to recall a few more memories. Some needed to be triggered. Some would just come out of nowhere.

The release was very tiresome. Flashing lights and smoke coming from rather odd objects, even more rabid people crowding her brain. Her name was being flung around casually, and she wondered how so many people seemed to know her when she herself didn't. She was close to collapsing until someone grabbed her arm, steadied her. Next thing, she was standing in between untamed, high grass in front of a big, weird looking building.

ooo

The usual sunday brunch. The burrow was rather crowded, something Hermione had gotten used to very soon. Not like she's had much say in this ordeal any way. But she had to admit that it had helped her immensely to warm up to these people that she had once loved and cherished, even though she felt out of place very often.

"I'm ready."

And Harry led her by her hand out into the garden, leaving the Weasleys and a bunch of other guests lurking around in the dining room, chatting and laughing. The sudden silence that overcame them wasn't awkward; in fact, Hermione enjoyed this solitude with her best friend. When they apparated, they found themselves in front of the all too familiar telephone booths, and Hermione inhaled deeply, a rush of excitement overflowing her every time she caught sight of the red boxes. She loved Sundays.

But this time, they took a slightly different routine. To Hermione's confusion, they exited the elevator earlier than usual. Harry looked around, clearly searching for someone.

"Uhm, Hermione, can I leave you for a minute? I have to talk to someone, uhm, a Ministry employee."

Hermione knew he was leaving out a piece of information, but smiled and nodded anyway.

She could sense him being at unease, as he continued to look around and then back at Hermione, back and forth. He sighed and caught her hand to give it a slight squeeze before he sprinted off.

ooo

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Very mature, Malfoy."

"Come off it, Potter. I have my reasons, so don't push me."

Silence.

"How is she?"

"She's making progress. Without the memories, she would be lost though. And that's exactly why you should do her the favour."

Silence.

"Please, Malfoy. Just one-"

"No."

ooo

Nothing had changed. Standing in the living room, she glanced around and took in the all too familiar furnishing of the small room. Everything was neat as usual, placed symmetrically, just like her father liked it. Noticing a lopsided picture frame above the fireplace, she carefully realigned it, coating her fingers with dust in the process.

As the rain drummed against the windowpanes, Hermione leaned against the wall, letting the noise soothe her. She closed her eyes and conjured up her favourite memory with her parents, one were she had returned from her first year at Hogwarts. Her parents had let their suspicions and fear towards the wizarding world subside, only to replace them with equal excitement their daughter had displayed while telling them all about her favourite subjects (all subjects, to be concrete), her professors, the different Houses they were sorted into. Even though they had owled each other during the year, and Hermione had repeated her stories more than once, her parents had listened nevertheless, enthralled and intrigued by the strange new world over and over again.

Hermione opened her eyes, only to slid down the wall and draw her knees to her chest. Flakes of dust were swirling around, obscuring her sight for a few seconds. The room was dark with the chandelier not alight. A sudden sob escaped her throat, her eyes were filling with tears. She hugged herself tighter, as if her life depended on it, and bit her dry lip. She could taste blood- the metallic taste was too familiar, even though she couldn't pinpoint why exactly.

She cried silently, resting her forehead on her knees, until Ron joined her on the ground, pulling her close to himself. She felt him shake, and knew he was crying, too.

ooo

"I'm not the only one, Malfoy. Ron, Mr and Mrs Weasley and Kingsley always ask me if I forgot to ask you to come over. I'm getting rather tired of it, really."

"No, thanks. I'd rather not."

"Come on, it's not that bad. There is good food, good conversation-"

"I know what you are trying. Seeing her won't change anything."

"You think this is about the memories?"

Silence.

"Look, see it as an Order meeting. Every member is invited, including you. If you don't want to share your memories, that's fine by me. But you really should come, Malfoy. To socialise. Because I don't think that sulking in a dusty, windowless office is good for your tan."

"You're wasting away in the Ministry, Potter. Clearly, it's the Comedy Business where you belong."

Silence.

"What should I bring?"

"Yourself."

"A bottle of wine will do."

ooo

"Ron was thinking about bringing his girlfriend over: Pansy. Remember? Sleek, black hair, tall... She was a Slytherin, too. We couldn't stand her back then... You called her pug faced once, remember?"

"Ugh, Gin, she's my girlfriend! I want Hermione to like her, but you just _had_ to ruin it, didn't you?"

Hermione frowned, and bit her lip. No, she didn't know any Pansy's. Ron looked sullen, while Ginny seemed to be obviously embarrassed.

"Sorry, Ron."

He muttered something that sounded like "insufferable, meddling sisters", and Hermione pressed her lips to keep herself from laughing.

"If it's any consolation, I really don't remember her. If you like her, then I will get on with her just fine; no worries there, Ron."

Ginny exhaled, and nodded at Hermione in thanks for the quick rescue. "Exactly, Ron, no worries there, you know Hermione. Malfoy, on the other hand-"

She interrupted herself as Ron started to caugh , looking pointedly at his sister and nudging her with his elbow.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Who is 'Malfoy'?"

"Did she say 'Malfoy'? No, no, why would she do that? We don't know any 'Malfoy', what kind of name is that even? Pretty stupid one, if you ask me, but it's not like she said _'Malfoy'_. She said 'Molly', right, Gin? Mom doesn't know about Pansy, that's why, _right _Gin?"

"Ehm, yeah, I guess?"

"How about we have a talk, Gin?"

And with that, Ron dragged his little sister away from Hermione, who was visibly puzzled by their strange behaviour.

ooo

"What is it, Potter? Want to ask me if I want to go as your date? Sorry, I don't share, and I hardly think the Weaselette would be up for that either."

"Shove it. It's about Ron."

"And he couldn't come himself?"

"You'll understand why."

"Go on, then."

"Um, have you heard about Pansy? Pansy Parkinson, your-"

"Are you seriously describing a friend of mine who I've known ever since I can remember?"

"Well, no. Anyway, have you two been in contact since the end of the War?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Her and Ron. They've been seeing each other. For three weeks, actually."

Silence.

"Malfoy?"

Silence.

"He knew you wouldn't like it."

"I'm still trying to figure out the point of this conversation."

"It's just that she is Pansy, and you are, well, Malfoy. And he is Ron."

Silence.

"What?"

"That was by far the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say. And that says a lot, considering we are around each other very often, to my clear misfortune."

"You know what I meant, Malfoy."

"So what? Yes, Weasel is not my favourite pet and Pansy is like a sister. What do you expect me to do, though? As long as he behaves himself, which I know takes a lot of effort for him, there is no place for my opinion."

"So you're okay with it? And wait, she is like a _sister_? I thought, or well, _all_ of us thought you were dating back then!"

"And all of _us_ thought you were dating Granger. So what?"

"Really?"

Silence.

"Why do I have the feeling that your reaction isn't quite normal? You knew, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. She tells me everything."

"Then why in the world did Ron want me to, I quote, 'break the news'?"

"I've never taken particular interest in the brainwork of Weasels."

"_What _kind of relationship is this even? Aren't they supposed to, I don't know, tell each other what is bothering them? Do they even _talk_ beside snogging the daylights out of each other?"

"Spare me the details, Potter, I've just had a good lunch I would like to keep in my stomach."

ooo

The grass was tickling her bare legs and feet. They had decided to have their usual brunch outside under the gleaming sun. If it weren't for the occasional breeze blowing over the open field, the heat would have been unbearable. And for the cooling charms, of course. With the help of Luna, Hermione had even cast one herself. She had been immensely proud of herself. There was progress, and it thrilled her.

However, Hermione didn't feel quite at ease. Especially Ginny had been acting awkward ever since they had woken up at their shared bedroom, insisting she wore an emerald green summer dress from her wardrobe. It was a beautiful piece, Hermione had to admit. Despite her protests and the long discussions, she had given in, ending up wearing the airy dress even though she didn't feel comfortable doing so. A tank top and shorts would have been more in her comfort zone. Ginny had told her that some things simply couldn't be changed, but that she would at least die trying.

The awkwardness hadn't ended with that; Harry had made sure to never leave her side, at least not for more than three minutes, casting anxious glances at the apparition spot. And even though Ron had been busy introducing Pansy to the other guests, Hermione noticed that not only the girl on his arm was making him nervous. She had seen the questioning looks exchanged between the two best friends, and she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was part of the reason.

Now that most guests had apparated back to their respective homes, Hermione finally found herself enjoying the last gleams of the sun on her heated skin, away from the pity and worry that her very presence seemed to attract. Even though it wasn't as evident as in the first months, nobody could see past the imaginary vulnerability to see _her_, Hermione Granger. She would forever be the helpless, clueless Hermione, and it frustrated her endlessly. She wanted to be able to look out for herself, stand on her own, very much healthy two feet. It was tiring to be compared to her former self, to the "smartest witch of her age", without being able to prove herself. And without knowing where she was standing now.

And again, their destination was the red boxes. Only did she not feel the usual excitement.

ooo

"How come we didn't see you? Don't tell me you _disillusioned _yourself!"

"I was just taking precautions, is all. Looks like it paid off, since Potter here was clearly trying something."

"I wasn't trying anything!"

"Sure, Potter. That was probably why you wouldn't even leave her side, just to make sure to get us reintroduced. Nice try, though."

"Scared, Malfoy?"

"Says the guy who was pissing his pants asking for my permission to date Pansy."

"Technically, it was _me_ asking you. _Unnecessarily_, so."

"Hey! How could I have known that?"

"It's called having a _conversation_, Weaselbee. Look it up."

Snickering.

"Traitor."

"You know he's right, Ron."

"Whatever... Oh, I forgot to mention, Malfoy. Gin accidently dropped your name."

Silence.

"First or last?"

"Last. Look, I _swear_ it was Ginny's fault!"

"Did she... say something?"

"I stopped her before-"

"I mean Granger."

"She asked who you were, but I said that Ginny meant _Molly_, not _Malfoy_."

"And you _honestly_ think she bought it? Ginny told me that you were babbling complete nonsense."

"Maybe if you had told your girlfriend not to talk about him, all this wouldn't have happened!"

"Hello? She's your _sister_!"

"Well _sorry_ if she listens to nobody but THE CHOSEN ONE!"

"The unresolved sexual tension is _killing _me. Please leave my office and get a room because I clearly don't want to witness this."

"Ugh, Malfoy!"

ooo

The blank, light green walls were suffocating her, and the too bright, cold lights streaming on her form were almost blinding. She felt exposed, naked under the gaze of the woman sitting across her. It was a piercing one, too analysing for Hermione to sit comfortably. But that was what she was there for, wasn't it? To be analysed, whether she liked it or not. To open up herself to this complete stranger.

"We are not moving forward, Miss Granger. At least not according to my notes."

"Hmm."

The woman sighed, and put her notepad on her lap. She readjusted her glasses, and started to suck on her quill: a very nasty habit which the witch clearly tried to get rid of, Hermione observed her as she quickly withdrew the quill from her mouth to place it on the pad carefully. To Hermione, it felt like the roles had been reversed. A lopsided smile graced her lips.

"What are you thinking now?"

"Nothing of importance."

"I'll have to disagree, Miss Granger, as everything concerning-"

"I assure you it's got nothing to do with my illness, Mrs Greenwood."

Hermione watched the therapist scribble down a note, her lips set in a straight line, her brows furrowed. She, on the other hand, felt nothing but amusement at the pathetic attempts at getting through her, to understand what she was thinking. How could this middle aged woman get to know her if she herself had no clue? Even the idea was preposterous, laughable, utterly ridiculous. And even though she found the sneaky gnome in the Weasley's garden more qualified for the quest of deciphering her mindset than this impersonal witch, she knew that if she didn't find out in the first place, no one else could. Not even the fascinating gnome.

"What about we talk about your latest memory, Miss Granger?"

Hermione cocked one brow; was this woman getting paid for_ smalltalk_? The woman sighed, clearly frustrated from the lack of answers she was being given today. Not like her patient had ever given her eloquent answers, but at least she would receive a yes/no answer. Hermione bit her lip to keep herself from laughing when she watched the quill move furiously._ She blinked – severe depression; she raised her brows – tendency to suicide; …_

"Mr Potter was kind enough to share your latest memory when we talked about the lack of progress in our sessions. How do you feel about it?"

"About the clear invasion of my privacy or about the memory, Mrs Greenwood?"

The scratching noises were far from amusing; in fact, Hermione wanted to rip the sodding quill out of the witches' grip and break it in half. Harry had betrayed her, and it _stung_. Harry, one of the very few people she had trusted wholeheartedly because her mind had simply refused to forget about him. With whom she had experienced life again, be it through his memories. From above her glasses, the therapist watched her in curiosity. She was showing emotion – something Hermione had always been careful to hide from the scrutinising glare she would receive from the cold woman in front of her.

"All of this stays between us three- _Hermione_, I assure you."

"What a _relief_", she spat back sarcastically, her hands in fists. "How long has this been going on? You've been talking behind my back for months now, haven't you?"

"Mrs Gr-"

"_Don't!_"

And with that, Hermione stood up abruptly, almost knocking her chair in the process. Tears were burning in her eyes, her throat clogged up. She left the facilities for good.

ooo

"I don't know."

A sigh.

"She's not talking to me. To be exact, she's been avoiding me ever since."

"Same here."

"What did you do to her?"

"I don't think that's any of your concern-"

"It was me who found her, so yes, it is my concern. What. Did. You. Do?"

Silence.

"You... You actually care for her?"

"That's preposterous, and completely beside the point! Answer the _bloody_ question!"

"We would have done so if we actually knew, Malfoy! It's surely got something to do with her latest therapy session, because before that she-"

"Granger's taking therapy? For what?"

"Oh, maybe it could have something to do with the fact that half her brain is not functioning properly."

"Fuck off, Weasel."

"And what were you doing there anyway? In front of _Mungo's_?"

"Ron-"

"What, Harry? I think we have every right to know since we've been spilling everything about Hermione to him-"

"That's... different."

"It's not, Malfoy, and you know it! And you know what's starting to piss me off the most?"

"Spit it out."

"You not having a _care_ in the world while we are trying to scrape off the last memories from those who are willing-"

"And that's about everyone, except you."

Silence.

"Look, we don't know what happened there, and we _won't_ know. It would stay between the both of you. If it's forgiveness you are concerned about, trust me, she's not one to hold a grudge. I mean, I do remember her defending you at some point..."

"She almost hexed me for calling you names behind your back..."

"Do you think I care? I don't want her forgiveness; to be frank, I don't want _anything_ from her. You know what? _She can have them_! Give her the _bloody_ memories, all of them, and be so kind and start off with the one where I called her a _filthy mudblood, _will you?"

"Malfoy-"

"But don't expect me to be around... _you_ lot any longer because I won't. I'll owl you the missing memories; I'm done here."

* * *

I decided to post another story I've had written a while ago, and it's not finished as you can see. It's definitely not going to be a long one - maybe one or two parts may follow.

It would mean a lot to me if you left a review! :)

_-latefebruary_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any of the included characters created by JK Rowling.

* * *

"What do you think, Hermione?"

She assessed the purple dress, looking it up and down. Ginny would look perfect at her engagement, no doubt. Giving her friend a reassuring smile, she hugged her awkwardly, keeping the new gown at safe distance.

"I love it, Ginny. It's perfect."

When Ginny gave a twirl in front of the mirror, Hermione couldn't help but envy her. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, even without the high heels and make up; these were reserved for next week, for the big party. When Harry peeked into the room, Hermione tensed. Ginny pursed her lips, looking back and forth between her friend and fiancé.

"You weren't supposed to see me like that!," Ginny exclaimed, but it was more than clear that she didn't care.

"You look-"

"Yeah, yeah, Harry, save the compliments for the party and have a talk with your best friend, now will you?" Finally taking notice of Hermione, who was fidgeting with the hem of her grey shirt, eyes downcast, Harry cleared his throat.

"Hermione?"

They didn't exchange too many words since the hugs and kisses were expressive enough. And Hermione couldn't keep her tears at bay; too much had she missed Harry and Ron. The latter found his way into the room as well, shifting awkwardly on his large feet until Hermione enveloped him in a bone crushing hug, shushing him when he attempted to apologise.

"Now you can go on, Harry. How did you say I looked?"

Extracting herself from Ron, she caught him make a disgusted face and roll his eyes at the stutter Harry barely managed to choke out. Ginny grinned and winked at her.

"Pathetic," Ron whispered.

She couldn't refrain herself from nudging him and hissing back in a scolding tone "Need I remind you of the time we caught you and Pansy-"

"Ugh, will you EVER let this go? It's happened only once-" "_Once_? You probably mean we _saw_ it happen it only once, Ronald!" Neither noticed the pair snogging in the corner of the room, not at all caring about the volume the heated argument had taken.

ooo

"Weasley. Potter. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We came to return... these. Your memories. From the Order."

"Oh, really? Too bad I don't want them back."

"Don't be such a bloody bastard, Malfoy, and take them ba-"

"What Ron means to say is, we're sorry. We shouldn't have coerced you into anything. After all you've done for her-"

"What part of 'Don't mention it EVER AGAIN' didn't you understand, Potter?"

"I remember it being more along the lines of 'I will fucking rip you apart if you ever bring it up'..."

"Ron, _please_ leave the talking part to me, alright?"

"Hmpf."

Silence.

"Look, we won't bother you about it ever again, and if we do, feel free to hex us. And it's not that we, um... _hate_ you anymore. Not that we _like_ you either, don't look at me like that! You're part of the Order, and we would like it to stay that way. Even if you can be a git, you're... quite alright, Malfoy."

Silence.

"How touching, Potter. I'm on the verge of crying."

Snickering.

"Told you so, Harry."

"Shut it. Both of you. And wipe that stupid smirk off of your face, Malfoy."

"Or what, Potter? Are you threatening me with more heartfelt monologues about how much you missed me?"

"I _bloody_ well told you so."

Smack.

ooo

Hermione couldn't think of any other situation that awkward. And judging from Harry's face, she wasn't just imagining things. It had become awfully silent now that they were waiting for Ginny to return with the next dish - where the hell _was_ she?

"So, _dear_," Molly Weasley finally broke in, and while Harry had almost flinched out of his seats, she found herself shivering from the coldness in the tone the usually warmhearted matron had taken. "How are your parents?"

Ron choked on his water. And Hermione couldn't help but admire Pansy in that moment; she held Mrs Weasley's gaze unflinchingly, even smiled back although it was the fakest smile mankind had ever seen. And since nobody seemed to pay Ron's state any mind, Harry stood up to pat on his back. The coughing ceased with a flick of Pansy's wand, eyes still locked with Molly, who raised one brow. Hermione couldn't tell if she was impressed or annoyed.

"They couldn't be any better, thank you for asking, Mrs Weasley. They are _deeply_ sorry they couldn't make it today, and wished for me to send you their regards."

Which was a lie, of course, but that didn't matter in the scheme of things. Hermione couldn't have expressed how thankful she was for Ginny's entrance in that moment, because surely, Mrs Weasley had been about to lead the conversation to some ugly places. And really, nobody wanted that, especially not with Pansy as an equal to Mrs Weasley as a skilled verbal assassin. It was a match made in hell. May Merlin, God or whatever deity have mercy on Ron's soon-to-be-corrupted soul.

After having served lasagne with extra cheese (at which Pansy wrinkled her nose), Ginny returned to her task as peacekeeper. She was trying, she really was, to make both her mother and Pansy at least accept each other for Ron's sake. Love? Like? Scratch that, even acceptance was proving to be a hard one. But since Ginny had taken a liking for Pansy even though she would never in a million years admit to it (pugfaced here, Slytherin there), she was willing to at least try. Not for Ron's sake, contrary to some beliefs. Hermione would never understand the love-hate relationship going on between the Weasley siblings.

"Mum, did you know that Pansy has written an article for _Witch_ _Weekly_, and it's actually going to be published next week? There are high chances they might even employ her! Impressive, huh?"

Impressive, indeed. Molly blinked, and from the way she held her fork and knife Hermione could tell she was fighting hard to seem the contrary, unimpressed and uninterested. Casually, she cut herself a piece and didn't glance up when she asked "What is it about, Ms Parkinson?".

Poor Ron hadn't even touched his plate, and Hermione's eyes nearly bulged out at the sight. Ron? _Not eating?_ It was truly a sight to behold. She was shaken out of her thoughts when Pansy answered, inspecting her manicured nails.

"See, I've done some research about Celeste Warbecks love life, and have stumbled upon some rather scandalous facts." She leaned forward, and with a mischievous glint in her eyes whispered, "Did you know that she's had a fling with a certain _Gilderoy_ _Lockhart_?"

"No way!" With her mask of coolness having fallen off, Mrs Weasley leaned forward, her excitement at the fresh piece of gossip knowing no bounds. "_Spill_!"

So she did. And the spell was broken. Ron nearly fainted from relief, while Harry grinned and gave Ginny a lingering kiss on her cheek. Hermione couldn't help the smirk forming on her face; the witch surely know a few things about manipulation.

ooo

"Pff, as if. Harry invited Malfoy already, and you know what that git did? He made fun of the location! Said it was _predictable_, and other snobbish stuff..."

"Never said Draco would come, but _she_ might. She told me that she hasn't spoken to mum in ages, and that she's quite curious about Hermione's state."

"I don't like her, 'Gin, and I don't like that mum and her are getting rather cosy with each other either. And don't even get me started on this weird relationship between her and 'Mione..."

"Oh shut up, Ron. She's quite nice if you try to get to know her and don't hide in your room until she's gone. Not that you would know anything about _that_."

"I wasn't hiding, I was... I had _stuff_ to do, you know? I was a quite busy man, I fought in a war after all, didn't I?"

"Could you get any more pompous? Seriously, Ron, we all did fight. But we still had time to socialise, mend broken relationships. But you chose to be a ninny-"

"Nothing surprising there..."

"_Thank_ _you_, Pansy."

"I honestly can't tell who's corrupting who..."

"Oh shush, Ronald Weasley."

ooo

"'Mione, can I borrow Ron for a minute?"

The expression on Harry's face spoke volumes. Since she wasn't one to crush someone's hopes, she gave in.

"I'll go help Percy with the guestlist."

So she left both standing,, irritated by their secretive behaviour. It was moments like this where she felt out of place, left out of something major. Would things have been any different if she hadn't lost her memories? If she was the Hermione that knew every answer to every question? That was why she sought out Percy in the first place; pompous or not, at least he didn't treat her any differently than he did everybody else. It was oddly comforting, even though Percy certainly wasn't her favourite person to be around. Around him, she felt normal.

Nearing the tent, she saw Percy blocking the entrance, talking down to a little boy who looked like he was about to burst into tears. Alarmed, Hermione practically ran to solve the conflict, but was beaten to it by the sneaky boy himself; grabbing a handful mud and dirt and flinging it on Percy's undoubtedly expensive, Ministry provided trousers, he distracted the dishevelled man completely. Taking his chance, the culprit squeezed himself into the tent, but not without sticking out his tongue and kicking Percy's leg first From the howl he emitted, Hermione could tell it must have hurt really bad.

Completely horrified, Hermione watched Percy lung forward, dropping the guest list on the floor to follow the child inside. She was glad that he was too uptight to swear because certainly, this was a quite fitting time. His brother Ron wouldn't have shied away from growling a few colourful words. Hermione reached forward and took the slightly crumpled parchment, taking Percy's post at the entrance of the tent.

ooo

"Draco!"

Pansy's shrill voice carried through the tent, making heads turn and conversations cease, and Draco could feel every eye on him. He forced a smile and refused to look at anybody else than Pansy. They all could go straight to hell.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"Why, Pansy, nice to see you too."

She slapped his arm, putting on her 'Don't you dare play with me' glare. Hell, did she have a heavy hand. He scowled, and continued when he realised the witch was still waiting for an answer.

"It's Potter's and Weaselette's engagement, isn' - would you stop hitting me, woman?!"

"Would you stop avoiding my question? You know bloody well why I'm asking you, but since you insist on being so difficult, I'm going to be straightforward. What about Granger?"

"What about her?"

This time, he couldn't stop himself from yelping out loud when Pansy smacked him again. Looking around, he saw people watch them in either disapproval or amusement; the Weasley twins were grinning and giving Pansy a thumbs-up, winking at him. Draco decided to give in.

"Mother forced me."

"Of course she did," Pansy responded, shaking her head, rolling her eyes. "No other force would have gotten you to attend the engagement of the millenium. Seriously, Draco, get some fresh air sometime. I nearly didn't recognise you, _that_ long I haven't seen you."

"Yeah yeah, but here I am, so you can shut up about it now." Draco looked away in annoyance; one Narcissa was enough, but he didn't also need bloody Pansy mothering him. The witch in front of him had taken her unofficial, self-entitled role in his life too goddamn seriously, ever since first grade. Draco do this, no don't do that, I don't want you associating yourself with Greengrass (not that he regretted listening to _that_ instruction) et cetera et cetera. He'd take Mrs Weasley any day.

ooo

"Narcissa Malfoy, darling."

She pointed at her name on the list when Hermione didn't show any signs of recognition. In fact, Hermione didn't care if she was invited or not; the woman in front of her, dressed in elegant and obviously expensive robes, hair up in a chignon and her face free of any flaws fascinated her immensely. Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away and simply stared. Never had she seen a woman so composed, so _perfect_. Hermione's simple dress suddenly felt itchy against her not-so-flawless skin.

And the smile on her face didn't help Hermione's situation at all. She felt small under the witches gaze, which was far from intimidating. But the fact that this woman was linked to a name that Ginny had dropped once, and Ron had tried so hard to cover up certainly added to the mysterious aura surrounding her. Who was she to the Weasley family? To Harry? To _her_, Hermione, that nobody would speak of this woman in front of her?

"Oh... hello... Mrs... Malfoy," Percy broke in, completely out of breath. He bent down, palms on his thighs to calm down his heart rate while he gasped "Why... don't you... come... inside... the-"

"Thank you, Mr Weasley. Miss Granger."

With a curt nod, she entered the tent, leaving a wide eyed Hermione behind. She had said her name. She had... who the hell was she?!

Harry and Ron had some explaining to do.

ooo

"She looked beautiful."

Silence.

"You could have talked to her."

"Doesn't sound like you did much talking yourself, mother. "

"It was the perfect opportunity, Draco. You could have introduced yourself. Or maybe that wouldn't even-"

"_Don't_, mother. I don't want to talk about this. Not in the near future, not ever again. I've made myself more than clear on this-"

"I'm worried, Draco, and as your mother I have every right to be, and every right to give you advise. Look, I cannot force you, especially not with that stubborn head of yours, thanks to your dearest father-"

"_Mum_-"

"-but I need you to hear me out. I'm not immortal, Draco. Don't let your mother spend whatever is left of her life watching her son waste away, isolate himself from the rest of the world. As much as you are a _Malfoy_, you are a _Black_. Blacks don't hide. They fight. Survive. Make me proud, Draco. Be a true Black and make me proud."

Silence.

"Just know that I'm always here for you, darling. No matter what happens and what path you choose to take. Just promise me that if you don't think you can do it, you will try to get over h-"

"No."

A sigh.

"I can't."

"I know, dear."

* * *

Looks like this is going to be longer than the intended two or three parts, since I don't want to rush anything. And to be honest, I enjoy writing the dialogues way too much to let things end too quickly ;) I hope you liked this chapter, even if it's a shorter one.

Thank you so much for the support, I'm glad the story has caught the attention of so many people. It's astounding how people all over the world have access to it, makes me feel all the more giddy! :)

_-latefebruary_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any of the included characters created by JK Rowling.

* * *

The water felt like silk, caressing her skin as she was diving her face into the oval basin in front of her. A flash of a neverending amount of colours, and she found herself standing in the dining room of Grimmauld Place; Harry, who had appeared one step in front of her, had once invited him to the less spooky, less homely version which he proudly could call his home now. Hermione wrinkled her nose. No matter where she looked, there was absolutely no way to escape the grim looking faces on the walls, nor the dust that seemed to have settled on every surface, and as if it wasn't enough, was crowding the air. Even though it was ridiculous because actually, this was no reality they had stepped into, Hermione tried not to breath in the swirling dust particles. Harry seemed to do the same.

As she stepped in line with him she could hear two voices conversing, becoming increasingly louder until they stepped right through the flinged open doors, their sources finally exposed. Professors Dumbledore and Snape. The latter shut the doors by hand, only to lock them with a series of spells of which Hermione was sure could be safer than Hogwarts must have been; the professor may have been vile, but one of the smartest wizards she'd encountered so far. Be it through memories only.

Dumbledore sighed. Harry followed him.

"However _brilliant_ the mind of yours had once been, it doesn't make your plan less insane and utterly absurd," Snape spat, turning around with his robes flaring behind him. "I would have done it, for him _only_, but against our expectations he chose to trust you. As I see absolutely no reason anymore I will _not-"_

"Severus," Dumbledore interrupted him, taking his halfmoon spectacles into one hand. Hermione gasped as she took notice of the other, less unhealthy and completely shriveled hand which hung useless by his side. Harry shushed her with a finger on his lips. "Time is, I must admit, not a good friend of mine. I have asked you once, and I'm afraid I have to ask you again because it seems there is not much left."

He hitched up the sleeves of his lifeless hand, and yet again Hermione found herself completely horrified. She shrieked and took hold of Harry, who's face had taken an ashen tone.

"It has spread?"

"From my hand all the way up to my shoulder, across my chest. As predicted. Against all odds my organs haven't failed so far but it will happen, sooner or later. And before it does, you must go back to Voldemort. Win his trust. You know how, Severus. In fact, I couldn't imagine a more pleasant time to die." Taking a look out of the tiny windows that barely managed to enlighten the dark room, he smiled, sighing at the sight of greenery and sunshine. "Did you see the trees blossoming, Severus? The sun peeking through the clouds? The birds chirping in the morning? Pleasant, indeed..."

"What is he talking about, Harry?" Hermione asked, completely horrified. "Why-"

"I will explain later, now shush and listen!"

Snape closed his eyes.

"The Dark Lord doesn't need any more assurances of my loyalty. He trusts me. So if you're so keen on getting killed, why don't you do it yourself? Do you think I haven't done enough for the Order – for _you_, that you keep demanding-"

"For her," Dumbledore corrected him, but it only angered him further.

"For _her_?" he spat, taking a step forward. "You're setting her son up to die you old fool! You want me to watch him go to death, although all I've ever done so far was to _protect_ him! For _her_! But none of this is what I signed up for, Albus. As much as I would like to wring your neck, I'm not going to kill you. And I'm not going to send Potter off to his death either."

Hermione's head was spinning. Who was this woman they were talking about? And her son... Dumbledore simply couldn't – no, the headmaster was gentle. Kind. He wouldn't want to do anyone harm, for whatever reason that might be.

"Forgive me Severus," Dumbledore whispered, bowing his head. "But I reckon there is no other way. Even if we let Voldemort live, Harry wouldn't survive. The soul, be it so little and damaged beyond repair, is slowly taking over Harry's body. Haven't you noticed?"

Snape tensed visibly. Clenching his jaw, he swallowed hard, seemingly mulling it over his head.

"I have," was all he said before he left the room, leaving a sighing Dumbledore behind. Shaking his head, he followed him, albeit with some distance.

"Finite."

A second Harry revealed himself to them, but there was one thing about him that made all the difference. It couldn't have stood out any better, the way all colour had drained from his face: the lightning bolt.

ooo

"_Oof_!"

She collided with a body, her head crashing against someone's rather hard chest and making her lose all control of her mug of hot chocolate she'd been looking forward to having with book in the safe confines of her bedroom. She wouldn't have been interrupted today, not when Ginny was off picking the table linings which apparently had to match the colour of the bridesmaid's dresses, at least that was what the fiery witch had ranted about for hours when Mrs Weasley had arrived with green, lacy ones, with Ginny flowerily describing them with terms varying from "puke-inducing" to "something Aunt Muriel would love to wear as lingerie". Ron had almost hexed her for the horrifying description, and Hermione wouldn't for the love of Merlin have blamed him for that, just like everyone else whose poor mind the image had been inflicted upon.

"_Fuck_!," her opposite hissed, taking a step backwards and slightly lifting the flimsy material to break it's contact with his obviously burnt skin.

As Hermione finally came to her senses, her eyes widened at the sight of a white blouse, being not-so-white anymore from the brown liquid she had just spilled all over. Her hands came up to cover her mouth, her breath hitching at the damage she'd just caused.

"Oh my God! Merlin... I-Im _so_ sorry!"

Without even glancing up at the man's face (because she just didn't find it in her to see his undoubtedly unamused face) she took out her wand, pointing it at the huge stain that had formed on the silky, blindingly white fabric (oh, joy!).

"_Scourgify_!"

The patch disappeared immediately thanks to her improved skills at household chores, but Hermione was well aware of the fact that the wizard was clearly injured, and bit her lip. _Dammit._

"Does it hurt?" she asked tentatively, her voice just above a whisper, while slowly raising her eyes to meet his. She had to arch her head because he was at least one head taller than her gnomey self.

Cold, grey eyes were fixed upon hers and she shivered, not even knowing why. The guest had white blonde hair which fell over his forehead in a perfect manner, smooth and straight and so unlike Hermione's mane she always had so many difficulties with brushing through, or simply taming to achieve something akin to acceptable to leave the house. His pale skin would have made him look almost unreal if it hadn't been for the cut on his left cheek, marring his aristocratic features. The expression he wore didn't make him any less attractive: he had his lips pressed into a thin line and his brows furrowed, and Hermione took one step back from his suddenly intimidating posture. He was towering over her, after all, and was surely much more practical with his wand than herself, having practised for a few months only. And most of what she could produce with her wand would only be useful in the kitchens and the wash room anyway.

A few moments passed like that, with their eyes locked for what seemed to be an eternity to Hermione, and then her opposite finally looked away, down his chest to take out his wand, slowly and with such elegance she had to wonder under which circumstances he had been raised, his manners probably as impeccable as the way he handled his wand and his appearance. Pointing it at his chest, he murmured an incantation , a mess of Latin words Hermione couldn't make sense of to safe her life. She cleared her throat when he seemed to be finished.

"Please excuse my mish-"

"Is Ronald Weasley here?" he interrupted the beginning of her tirade of excuses and descriptions of her stupidity and clumsiness, his eyes roaming over the room but avoiding hers. Completely entranced by the way it bobbed up and down, she watched his Adam's apple move in slow motion until she shook herself, not knowing what had suddenly gotten into her. The anxiety he seemed to cause her, plus her lack of manners she had showcased him through the entire time span of their interaction horrified her; it was so unlike her to be fazed by someone's mere presence.

"Just give me a moment!" she rushed out, conquering the kitchen floor in long strides, only to take a look back when she was about to pass the threshold.

She didn't know what to make of the way he looked at her.

ooo

"Ron!"

Knocking.

"_Ron_!"

Hammering.

"Ugh for God's sake, can't a man have at least _some_ sleep?!"

"Ron come out, there's someone waiting for you in the kitchen."

"Who? At this time of the day?"

Sigh.

"It's twelve in the morning Ronald."

"Exactly my point! _In the morning_, Hermione, _in the morning_."

"Oh excuse my terrible manners, next time I'll be considerate enough to wake you up at _sunset_ – is that fine by you? GET OUT. Someone wants to talk to you."

Door creaking.

"If it's Seamus tell him to sod off, the bloody git knows I'm busy today!"

"If that's what you call busy, I don't want to know- ugh whatever. It's not Seamus. It's someone I don't know, probably one of your colleagues..."

"What does he look like and who the hell has let him in?"

"Not me, anyway. Looks like he helped himself in. He's blonde, really tall, and has grey eyes if I'm not mistaken."

Silence.

"What?"

"Blimey... Are you sure, 'Mione? And how in Merlin's name do you know the colour of his eyes? What happened?"

"Why do _you_ look so horrified anyway? It was me who crashed into him and -and _burned_ him with hot chocolate, that's what happened! So _please_ go down and talk to him already, you're being rude!"

"Holy fu- you did _what_?"

"Go. To. The kitchen. NOW!"

"Okay I'm going already, _mum._ But, _fucking _hell, you go to bed for a few hours and the bloody world goes down."

ooo

Snickering.

"Charming, Weasley. Very charming pyjamas you have there. But isn't it a bit too early for a sleep over party?"

"Early, indeed."

Silence.

"What has gotten into you? You just- _talked _to her, right?"

"_Muffliato. _I changed my mind, is all."

"About what? The memories?"

"That too. Also about my role in her life, but they both come hand in hand, right?"

"Let me ask you again, a littler slower this time: What the _hell _has gotten into you? And why so early in the morning when my brain can barely process it all?"

"Would It be any different if I told you five hours later? Don't blame it on the time, Weasley. It's all on you."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"You walked right into it. But to answer your question; I have a very persuasive mother, who can make you feel terribly guilty and miserable if something is not working the way she'd like it to. So I'm here. I'm giving you the memories, and I'm sure some of the memories you have contain me already. Feel free to use them; actually, I _want_ you to use them."

"There is one tiny, itsy bitsy problem though."

"Enlighten me."

"_How in the world_ do we explain to her that we've practically kept your _entire existence_ from her, all these months, and have basically withheld lots of memories from her because they contained your ugly, ferrety face in them? She would kill us all!"

"I do remember you almost biting my head off for not giving you anything just a few weeks ago. Had things been any different back then? I think not."

"But-"

"Ah, ah, it's all for Granger, isn't it? She deserves to know."

"I'm not sure anymore if your mum is just persuasive because I really wouldn't put it past her to put you under the Imperius to say these things. She can be scary like that. I mean, suddenly you think about what is good for her and what not? About her sodding_ rights_?

"So will you do as I say or do you need Potty's permission for that first?"

"You know he won't say no Malfoy. But that's because he always thinks the best of Hermione, and can't really foresee our miserable end for after she finds out."

"I don't give a toss, really. My decision stands. She will find out today."

"She didn't remember you – at all?"

Silence.

"But after all, she did remember me and Harry only, so it's not such a big surprise. Hell, she didn't even remember how exactly we had become friends, let alone our bloody names! But she had said something about having these _feelings_ when she sees us now, and that's how she knew that we'd meant some big deal to her."

ooo

The kitchen.

The multifunctional room offered not only space for cooking and dining , but also for a round of discussion about family matters to be held in. The table was set as usual, with mouthwatering dishes placed upon it and a pack of Weasleys and acquaintances gathered around. Molly had to pat away several hands reaching around the bowl of porridge to sneak away one or two chicken legs; Hermione herself was having a hard time resisting.

Things might have looked normal to a common observer, but actually, the tension could be cut with a bloody knife. Hermione was still quite sour at Harry and Ron, hell the whole _table _for obviously holding something back from her. Something seemingly minuscule, but Hermione would beg to differ; she herself would like to have the option to decide whether she deemed something unimportant or not. For that, she needed input first. And obviously, there was a lack of it; something she needed to talk about at this very table.

If it hadn't been for the blonde sitting right next to Pansy, his features as stony as when she'd first met him. And suddenly, something clicked. Tilting her head sideways, she scrutinised every inch of his face, wished away the scar over his left cheek to make the little pieces of the puzzle come together. Everything fit just perfectly.

"Malfoy?"

His head jerked towards her, his eyes wide open, his lips an inch apart.

"I was right," she mumbled, unaware of all the unbelieving stares she was receiving from each occupant of the wiggly chairs around the dining table. "It was your mother, right? At the engagement party; she was there, and she said my name because- because she _knows_ me! But why? Will someone explain to me why I don't know her? Why no one even bothered to introduce her to me?"

"Herm-"

"Don't 'Hermione' me, Harry!" she hissed, glowering at him and making him cower. "I want an explanation this instant!"

"So you remember her? Him, Malfoy here?" Harry asked, his glasses sliding down his nose before he pushed them back.

"What? No, of course I don't remember her! Why should I even? Wouldn't you have shown me some memories of her if she had been an such important part of my life? If _he_ had been an important part of it?" She glared at the blonde, her temper flaring. Why hadn't he made any effort to show up and talk to her, and instead had ignored her completely all these months she'd spent in total oblivion? All the confusion and anger she'd bottled up so far threatened to be released, just like the tears that were forming in her eyes were at the edge of spilling over. It wasn't fair that additional to how Bellatrix had cursed her mind into complete darkness, her close friends were so intent on keeping her there, bottled up in her own tiny world, away from all the truth.

The violent scraping of wood against wood made her flinch; the blonde had stood up, his nostrils flaring and obvious fury etched onto his face. Pansy was holding his wrist, hissing something at him she couldn't quite understand. He jerked his arm free and stormed out, leaving a baffled crowd behind.

"Holy shit," Ginny said, voicing what probably everybody else was thinking in the room. Even though Molly scolded her for her choice of words, she seemed to have said the same thing internally.

And Hermione didn't know what to make of the glare he had thrown at her either. She let the tears fall freely, biting the insides of her mouth to keep herself from letting out a pathetically loud sob.

ooo

"Gods, why am I surrounding myself with _such_ idiots?"

"Pans, calm down-"

"_Calm down_? Ron, I won't calm down, not when my best friend is basically unreachable, drinking himself into a stupor, day for day!"

"But... why? I don't get it."

"Potter I _swear_ I will use an Unforgivable on you if I have to hear the same bloody question again! How can you be possibly that thick? Are you telling me that you noticed absolutely _nothing_ about him in all those years?"

Silence.

"Well okay, if you must insist on being so _bloody_ blind, let me enlighten you: He's in _love_ with her! With _bloody_ Granger! And she doesn't even _remember_ him! Can you imagine anything worse than that? Because I can't."

Silence.

"Do you understand now why he had been so scared to be around her? I thought that maybe she would remember him; that Draco had been so damn scared for nothing, but he was right. I mean, did you see his bloody face? And she threw it at him, that he meant absolutely _nothing_ to her, that's what she did!"

Silence.

"For how long, Pansy? And when did that even happen? Merlin, I didn't know..."

"That's not my story to tell, Potter."

* * *

Finally, here it is! I've been a little ill for the last few weeks, and couldn't muster up any motivation to continue with the story, so please forgive me for the delay! And PHEW, this is definitely becoming A LOT longer than I would have expected (didn't I say something about it becoming a two/three part thing? Dear God).

Thanks for the wonderful reviews and all the help I've received so far!

_-latefebruary_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any of the included characters created by JK Rowling.

* * *

Maybe it was the harsh wind that made her eyes tear up, and the fact that she was sniffing was just a symptom of a flu she'd just caught. And maybe not.

Too many things had happened that day, and she couldn't help but replay every single moment, latch onto any signs she'd missed. Signs that indicated that she'd supposedly known this man she'd just met for almost ten years. Or the woman at the engagement party, someone of whom she'd though of as a complete stranger. There had been clear signs she had been cautious enough to notice: Mrs Malfoy knowing her name, or Mr Malfoy giving her strange looks. But to the lies her friends had told to her face she'd closed her eyes, willingly, trustingly.

It really wasn't Hermione's fault that the dandelions were under her palms, ready to be torn out of the ground and ripped to shreds, their bright petals escaping her fists and floating through the air. She would have released a cry of frustration hadn't she grit her teeth and closed her eyes to calm down; but still, she could see the word embedded in her forearm, mocking her, daring her to let go of all the composure she was trying so hard to hold upright.

_Mudblood._

Funny how that didn't sound as strange to her as her own name, when she'd first heard it. But then again, life had it's own sick, twisted sense of humour. Hermione couldn't do anything but laugh along.

It hadn't hurt, finding out what the engraving actually meant. What it said about her, her heritage, her identity, her place in the Wizarding World. It had stung a little, knowing that she once had been considered an inferior being without deserving it, but it hadn't hurt as much as seeing her twelve year old self facing what cruelties the world had to offer, a little sneak peak of what was about to come.

Filthy. Little._ Mudblood._

She knew that they'd hated each other with great passion, despised each other for how in many ways they were so different, yet walked on the same grounds in the same castle, learned the very same things from the same teachers. She'd stuck to her friends and family, to what she firmly believed to be right. Maybe they hadn't been so different from each other. Because when Harry had told her what had become of him the night at the Astronomy Tower, she couldn't help but notice he'd only done the very same thing: stick to family and friends and his own beliefs. The only difference left had been the hard choice his eighteen year old self had had to make.

She wondered if he regretted turning his back on things he'd learned to know to be sacred, and putting his life into he hands of those he'd only learned to see inferior and despicable. And simply _wrong_.

Narcissa was a different matter, a story to be told the next time they would dive into a sea of memories. She shouldn't have cared that much about the Malfoys; up until the moment the truth had been exposed, she'd lived a life in contentment, without the need of anyone else. Things had worked out almost perfectly, hadn't there been the feeling of disconnect to her own self. But somehow, the Malfoys were a part of herself, of her past, something she sooner or later had had to face. Because it's not only love that builds your character; hate and rejection are as much of a factor, if not a bigger one in the process of molding a person.

And in her case, it had probably had a bigger effect on her. But it'd only made her stronger.

So she grit her teeth, the strong woman she was, and watched the wind caress the grass around her, and the dandelions she'd spared swing back and forth. It didn't feel like summer.

ooo

He probably should have just obliviated himself.

ooo

She watched the manicured, sleek fingers curl around the handle of the cup in front of her, gripping and lifting it, slowly, letting no drop of Earl Grey spill over the edge. Narcissa Malfoy was sipping silently, her face devoid of any emotion, but so beautiful at the same time while Hermione was fidgeting with the hem of her skirt under the table.

She shouldn't have come. The more time passed by, with Narcissa watching her curiously while Hermione couldn't even dare to look her in the eyes, the more she was convinced of it. This wasn't normal. Why was it that even though the woman opposite to her should be ashamed, Hermione couldn't find any courage to say all the things that she'd been edging to spit at her? Hadn't that been the sole reason to come here in the first place?

"Your hot chocolate is getting cold, dear."

She made no move toward her own mug, and continued sitting there, silently, while cursing herself inwardly for what a coward she was being. Narcissa sighed and started to rummage through her handbag, her long fingers picking out a tiny piece of parchment and putting it on the table. She pushed it towards Hermione, who furrowed her brows.

"Do you recognise it?"

Hermione looked up to meet her eyes.

"My handwriting."

It was so thrilling to see a little fragment of her past life, something so terrifyingly _real_, so unlike any memory she'd watched until now, like some Muggle blockbuster. Biting her lip, she took the note in her hands and absorbed the words.

_Malfoy,_

_I'm enclosing this in hopes you will find some joy in reading something entirely different from what you've probably read so far (even though I'm not quite sure if you won't burn it, or curse it into bits of crumpled paper). It's one of my favourites, and telling from what your mother told me about what you usually enjoy reading, you might like this one too, even though it's probably too Muggle for your taste. I hope you at least give it a try._

_Hermione_

"I don't understand."

"This is from the times from back in the War, within the confines of the Order," Narcissa answered, her eyes becoming wistful at the memories. "Mr Potter must have told you the details, am I correct?"

She nodded. Hermione had learned about the dark times, when Voldemort had taken over the Ministry and they'd fought against his army, going on missions and trying to find the fragments of his souls in the form of Horcruxes. They'd stayed at Grimmauld Place with their potions and food rations frighteningly small, too many injured Order members confined to bed rest with not much medicine to heal them with. It had been getting harder and harder to find out where Voldemort would strike next.

And just yesterday, Hermione had found out how exactly they'd won, with so many wounded and incapable of fighting, and not enough information to outsmart the enemy. The solution had come in the form of the Malfoy family, or what had been left of it. Lucius Malfoy had been killed by his own kind, and his wife and son hadn't known where to go, where to hide with the wrath of the Dark Lord awaiting them. So even though it was their home, the Manor, that the Death Eaters were occupying, returning had been absolutely no option.

So in the end, finding an unconscious Hermione Granger in the remnants of a battle that had just occurred had been a blessing to both the Malfoys and the Order.

"This was a way of thanking him; thanking _me_ just as much. You provided us with books, which I'm pretty sure you told no soul in the Order."

She smiled mischievously. Hermione couldn't help but smirk back. It fell when she realised something.

"Wait- Malfoy read _Muggle_ literature?"

"Oh yes, he read it all in one go. I don't remember him putting down any of the books you've given him until he was finished."

"Oh."

She imagined him holding _Othello_, with his eyebrows knitted in concentration, lips pursed, and found the image not as unrealistic as she should have. But it surprised her, nevertheless. She took a sip of her hot chocolate, and put both hand on the table.

"What were we?"

"You and Draco? Oh, dear-"

"No, I meant- actually yes, that's what I meant too, but also you and me."

She should be angry, but couldn't find it in her to shout. Hermione felt a cool hand on her own, covering it, and she looked up to Narcissa, who suddenly looked so worn out, so unlike her usually wrinkle-free face.

"You've come to mean very much to me, Hermione. Considering that we technically used you to get our way into the Order, you treated us with nothing but kindness. And I'm sure Draco feels the same way, but please understand that he's not as good with words as a wizard should be. Please know that we're utterly grateful for what you've done for us."

"_You_ saved _me_."

"It was a quite tough decision to make, and, _gods_."

She covered her face with one hand, with the other still resting on Hermione's.

"I cannot even express how terribly ashamed I am. I almost let you _die_ there, hadn't it been for Draco."

For Draco, her enemy from Hogwarts, for the cruel boy who had tormented, insulted and had wished death upon her? She decided to think about it later because frankly, nothing made much sense to her in that moment. Narcissa lowered her hand and laid it on top of her other one, revealing black streaks across her cheek from the ruined mascara. She laughed nervously, her eyes expressing something akin to shame, guilt and sadness.

"I couldn't have provided my son any future if you hadn't helped us. Defended us, even against your friends despite our past."

"Then why didn't you talk to me?"

Withdrawing her hands from underneath Narcissa's, she backed off slightly, her eyes filling with tears of anger. Narcissa looked hurt, her lips trembling and more tears following the trails of the prior ones.

"Oh darling, please believe me I wanted to talk to you the second I heard what had happened to you. And who had done such a _horrible_ thing to you." She looked nearly murderous, the way her eyes darkened at the thought of Bellatrix, her sister. "But I couldn't. Draco wouldn't let me."

"And why would that be? I would understand if he would think of himself as far better off without me, but he had _no_ right-"

"You couldn't be further from the truth, Hermione," she interrupted, shaking her head. "He was scared. Scared of rejection. You were friends, back in the Order, and he couldn't be sure if you would continue to be the same, or if you would stick to what you used to be at school: enemies."

Hermione scoffed; it was the most ridiculous, preposterous thing she'd heard so far. Malfoy and her? Friends? She could understand being grateful for being rescued, but really? Getting friendly with such a bully seemed to be something highly idiotic for someone supposedly smart.

"I don't believe you."

"Just as I thought..." Narcissa murmured, and finally withdrew her hands to fiddle with the zip of her handbag. Yet again, she retrieved something; Two vials, to be correct, containing a silvery liquid, glistening in the sunlight that finally had found its way into the café. Putting them on the middle of the table, she stood up.

"Please don't be too harsh on him, will you? He's not well, and..." Sighing, she closed her eyes as a pained expression crossed her face. "I know I'm asking you too much, and I understand if you won't listen to me but _please_. Please talk to him."

With that, she went around the table and put a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder. She lingered there for a while, probably thinking about what to say next, but then left the café, with her perfume still abiding in the air.

Hermione eyed the vials curiously; two more memories, two more stories she had yet to discover. But this time, she would do it alone; telling from what Narcissa had told her, not many had known of this supposed friendship. She didn't want to have to explain things to Harry she herself didn't understand. Not that she owed anyone any explanations at this point.

She wondered what Draco was doing.

ooo

Boom.

"W-what the hell? Wh-who is this?"

"Oh gods, Blaise, look at him!"

"Get your lazy arse off the couch, Draco. And no more firewhiskey, that shit _reeks_!"

Whining.

"Give it back, you bastard! It's none of your bus-"

"_Langlock_. And _no_, Pansy, you women pampered him enough as it is. He needs a good kick in the arse, if you ask me."

"Maybe I shouldn't have asked you at all..."

"So he can continue being a pathetic- w-what is this even? I don't even know what to call him at this point. And all that wuss is about a _girl_? What a moron."

Whimpering.

"Blaise, release him! Can't you see him struggling? _Eww_, is that saliva all around his mouth?"

"Oh. Maybe I should have just petrified him. Obviously more hygienic and easier on the eyes. How stupid of me."

Silence.

"Okay, okay, you can do whatever you want with him once I'm out. Levitate him to his bed. I confiscate all the booze in this house; god knows how good he's at hiding his stuff, but unfortunately for him, I'm the best cursebreaker this country has to offer."

"Will you_ ever_ stop boasting about this?"

"Daphne's impressed, so what's it to you?"

ooo

Gasping for air, he searched for his mother, with his eyes roaming over the trees that were encircling him. It wasn't easy, trying to see through the thick walls of dust and ash put up by the destruction that had just taken place. They had run away from the dead bodies, from both the Death Eaters and Order members who had survived and had been fighting just until now. No more shouts of spells, no more cries of agony; they had retreated, not even aware of the enemy they had in common: the Malfoys.

"Mother!" he hissed, panic overflowing his senses. "_Mother_!"

It was no use. She had been behind her, with him clearing the path through the woods to make sure there was no one hidden behind the oak trees to harm them. Apparently, this had been a bad idea.

His eyes caught blue sneakers, and soon Draco found himself getting closer, discovering legs attached to a body, and a bunch of messy, brown curls sprawled around an all too familiar face. He almost sprinted, finding himself breathless as he knelled in front of the body, grabbing its wrist to check the pulse. She was alive. The reason for her unconscious state seemed to be a simple curse as he watched her take calm breaths, nothing all too damaging, but then he saw the red stain covering her muggle jeans. He tested her left leg, and decided it must be broken.

He would have left her, right there, all alone and unconscious. Of course Draco couldn't be too sure who would find her first: the Order, Death Eaters, or some wild animal in the wilderness. He couldn't just wake her up; the Dark Lord would find them even before he would finish saying _Rennervate_. But he couldn't leave her, even if he hated her, couldn't leave her even if he would regret not killing her the second she would open her obnoxious mouth. He was that stupid.

"Mudblood's at my mercy now, huh," he mumbled, standing up to his full height and looking down at her. His body had lost all it's strength within the last three days, after he'd watched his father die a slow death. And how he'd watched, the coward he was. He wasn't sure if he would have intervened if his wand hadn't been confiscated back then by Antonin Dolohov; he knew he would have died immediately if he'd even tried. But still, it would have made him less of a coward to know he would have done at least _something_.

"Draco?"

Turning around in a swift motion, he saw a tall figure hide behind a tree, her blonde hair standing out in all the greenery. She was hard to miss. Relief washed over Draco as she stepped out onto the open field, showing no signs of exhaustion or any injuries; she was perfectly healthy. He could finally breathe again. As she got closer, with her eyes darting over her surroundings and careful enough not to make any noises by stepping on dry leaves Narcissa noticed another figure laying on the ground, right at Draco's feet. She stopped short.

"This is Hermione Granger, isn't it? The_ Mudblood_? Is she still alive?"

At the sight of pure disgust upon her face, something clicked. It shouldn't have enraged him, the way she'd said the word, because he himself had called him Mudblood just a moment ago, hadn't he? But he couldn't help himself, and took a step backwards, not even noticing doing so.

"Found her lying behind some trees, unconscious," he gritted out. "She's alive."

"But what are you _doing _with her? There is no way we're going back to _him_ now is there? He surely would have his way with her but don't you even _think _he would spare us in return for Granger!"

The thought had crossed his mind, be it for a mere second, but he'd decided against it immediately. He simply didn't want to be in the good graces of the madman. And frankly, Draco wouldn't wish the things he would do to her to anyone, not even bloody _Potter_. He was above taking sides because none of them would really want him. Either he was too light, or too dark; something in between, a shade of grey. With a little hint of green, of course.

"We have to go, Draco! Gods, what if the Order is out here, looking for her? Let us find some place to stay for the night."

"No."

Dumbstruck, his mother blinked several times.

"You want to leave her here in the woods? Are you serious, mother? She would die within _hours_!"

"What is it to us? _We_ could die within hours, don't you see?" Taking long strides towards him, she almost begged him, her eyes reflecting the panic he didn't feel in that moment. He couldn't figure out where all the calmness came from.

That was it. Looking down at the girl, he had the idea to save them all. It would be reckless, knocking at the enemy's door, showing them their precious braniac, unconscious and injured, and seeking entrance. But what did they have to lose? They would die anyway if they didn't find any place to hide, which surely wouldn't be something easy to do. Let alone find something digestive, or liquid to quench their thirst. If they died at the hands of the Order, at least Granger would be alive, and therefore the Order would be one step closer to defeating the Dark Lord.

God knew the Order consisted of a bunch of idiots, and needed all the help they could get.

"We're taking her to the Order."

"W-what? We need to leave, let her be! Draco, what are you _doing_?"

But he wasn't listening; as soon as Narcissa had started talking, he'd knelled in front of Hermione, double-checking her pulse and injuries, and had taken hold of her body to lift her off the ground. He couldn't levitate her, of course, with magic having become a traitor to them, a spy working for the Dark Lord.

The body in his arms stirred, making him almost flinch; she snuggled closer to his body, pressing her face against his chest. His face had yet to decide whether to become green from disgust, or red from the shame he felt in that moment. It was the latter than finally won over.

"She's our only chance at being safe; our only chance at finding some place to stay. We could... help. Help them defeat _him_."

But she shook her head.

"They would kill us. They would think we are lying, that it had been us to harm her in the first place."

"Do you honestly think they would just give her up? They need her, and we need to convince them they need us just as much. Mother," Now it was him pleading with his eyes. "Where would we stay here? I don't know about you, but I didn't see any empty houses we could just stay inside."

Pursing her lips, Narcissa looked down at Hermione, who was sleeping contentedly. She didn't seem to be fully convinced. Draco himself took a look at the girl in his arms; Granger would probably scream bloody murder if she found herself in the arms of the enemy, so vulnerable. And probably embarrassed as well by the way she was trying to get as much body heat from him as she could. And of course he would laugh her in the face for it, if the opportunity should ever arise.

Narcissa sighed and gave a curt nod. Now, all Draco could do was hope the Order would be as welcoming as he supposed them to be. Maybe not with a red carpet rolled out in front of them, but probably wands poking at their throats. He couldn't care less about that; the end result was what counted, after all.

* * *

Now that I've gotten almost everything figured out about the plot (even though Blaise totally came out of nowhere), it's time for some memories. I hope you don't get confused about the POV; I wanted to include Draco's thoughts in this, which would have been impossible if told from Hermione's perspective.

Thank you SO MUCH for the reviews, and a special thanks to all the followers of this story: you're the reason I feel the need to recheck every single sentence (which doesn't mean I'm doing a good job of it, but hey, I'm trying :D).

_-latefebruary_


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